


"Silver Blaze" (1887)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [68]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Theft, Trains, synergy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: This had to be the largest land-based object that Sherlock was ever asked to find, weighing more than eight African elephants put together! What sort of idiot loses something that big?Step forward Mr. Jehosaphat Jones.





	"Silver Blaze" (1887)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shannon-Kind (Shannon_Kind)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannon_Kind/gifts).



In our many years together, my friend Sherlock was often called upon to find objects which had been either lost or stolen. These were generally small things (he just knows that I am going to take the opportunity to mention that damn fountain-pen!), although in this case, the item was somewhat larger than usual, if not indeed the largest thing that Sherlock had ever been called upon to locate. Namely a forty-two ton Great Eastern Railway steam locomotive! 

This case began not long after the capital was finally winding down from the celebrations for Her Majesty's Golden Jubilee. Naturally, every town in the country was eager for a royal visit that great year, but even our dear queen could not be everywhere at once, and around this time of year she always made a point of being in Scotland, beloved country of both her and her late husband. Before leaving, however, she agreed to visit the new museum marking the Roman Occupation, in the Essex town of Chelmsford. It was matters arising from that trip, and the Great Eastern Railway's untimely 'loss' of a large railway locomotive, which occasioned this case. It was also our first encounter with a lady who was, by no stretch of the definition, a character!

Mr. Jehoshaphat Jones, a director of the aforementioned railway company, looked decidedly ill at ease in our Baker Street home. He was about fifty, overweight, very well-to-do and (in my opinion) with far too high an opinion of himself, as if he was lowering his standards to seek help from Sherlock. The way he looked almost pityingly around the room made me quietly seethe. Though not that quietly, judging from the knowing look that my friend was sending me.

“I do not understand it, Mr. Holmes”, our unwelcome guest whined, patting his forehead with a handkerchief, clearly still recovering from the monumental effort of our stairs. “I mean, a whole railway locomotive? And now of all times!”

“You had better calm yourself”, Sherlock said placidly, “and start at the beginning. Once we know all the facts, we may be able to help you.”

I was slightly vexed that the director gave me a look which said quite clearly that he did not expect me to be of any help, but fortunately (for him) he did not voice that thought. Probably because he caught Sherlock looking sharply at him. He coughed, and began his tale.

“Our company was formed by an 1862 Act of Parliament which combined several smaller and only marginally profitable railways companies in East Anglia”, he said. We have grown massively and impressively since even if I do say so myself and, as I am sure you are aware, operate out of Liverpool Street Station. Our main engineering works is at nearby Stratford in Essex, and it is there that we seem to have 'lost' an entire railway locomotive!”

That was careless of you, I thought bitchily. Holmes sent me another Look.

“As part of the Golden Jubilee celebrations”, our guest went on, “Her Majesty was due to use our company's royal train to travel between Liverpool Street and Chelmsford for a visit to that ancient city. The trip is due to take place in two days' time, and whilst I fully expect it to still go ahead, it would be mortifying for our good name if this story were to come out. As it is, I am frankly amazed that the press has not got wind of it yet.”

Despite my dislike of the man, I could not but agree with him on that point. There were few secrets in London that our city's journalists could not ferret out, once they got the slightest hint of it. And the fact this had happened at the works with its hundreds of employees meant that this story must have been known to many of them. That no-one had talked was frankly amazing. He saw my astonishment and nodded.

“I should say at the start that relations between the company and the men at the works have been.... difficult as of late”, he admitted. “Just before our own silver jubilee celebrations, which happily coincided with Her Majesty's golden ones, they actually went on strike for more money! An outrageous demand, I am sure you will agree, but it was made worse when the managers at the works actually sided with them! I was shocked, I can tell you, quite, quite shocked! Fortunately our differences were resolved, although there was still a lot of bad feeling around. In the light of such unreasonable behaviour, I would fully have expected at least one of them to have gone to the press, to speed our discomfiture.”

“I remember the story”, I said, possibly a little too pleased at what I was about to say. “Did not you and the other directors vote yourselves exceedingly generous bonuses whilst the matter was still being resolved?”

He gave me a withering look, which I returned.

“Mr. Jones!” Sherlock said, more than a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“I am sorry, I am rambling”, the director said. He drew a deep breath and resumed his tale.

“Our royal coach is kept at Liverpool Street, and it was decided to assign our jubilee locomotive, engine number 699, for the royal trip. She was the prototype to our most successful T19 class, a 2-4-0 and our latest and fastest model. Because of our celebrations, she was named "Silver Blaze" at the start of the year; we rarely name our locomotives, unlike other railways. She was never meant to keep the name, but she had since proven so popular with the public that we had decided to retain it.”

“Yesterday, "Silver Blaze" was meant to do a test run up to Liverpool Street, to make sure that there was no problem with either her or fitting her to the royal coach, after which she would then return light to Stratford Works. One cannot be too careful when one is carrying royalty, as I am sure you gentlemen appreciate. The locomotive left the works just after six in the morning. She should have passed Coborn Road Station about ten minutes later at most, yet she never reached it. When the slow train that was following her went through, the Coborn signalman telegraphed his colleague at Stratford, asking where the light locomotive that he had been told to expect was. The works was informed, and a search was initiated at once.”

“What about the driver and fireman?” Sherlock asked. Mr. Jones groaned.

“Two works men, Charles Sanderson and Sidney Hever, were meant to drive her that day”, our guest said. “During the search, both men were found bound and gagged in a small back room at the works. They had not seen their attackers, who had jumped them and knocked them out as they came in to get changed. She was all fired up and ready to go, and whoever took her knew exactly what they were doing. An inside job, for sure.”

“But they cannot just make a whole locomotive disappear!” I objected. “What about branch lines?”

He looked at me pityingly, and I really wanted to hit him. 

“The doctor makes a good point”, Sherlock said sharply, and I could see that even his patience was wearing thin. “Answer his question, sir.”

I did not stick my tongue out at our guest, despite the temptation. But I did enjoy a feeling of smugness at the put-down. And I may have smirked a little, if the way that Sherlock was looking at me was any guide.

“We know that the train could not have gone east”, Mr. Jones said testily, “because it would have had to pass through Stratford station, which is busy even at that time of the morning. West, there is only one branch-line down which the engine could have passed, a connecting line to the Fenchurch Street terminus of the London, Tilbury and Southend Railway Company, with a station barely half a mile along, Bow Road. The points to that line are controlled from a ground-box because it is so rarely used; we had it checked, but it does not appear to have been tampered with. We contacted the Bow Road signalman just in case, and he told us that no light engine had passed his box. However, one of the works men was walking down the line on his way to the works, and he says that he saw the smoke from a train heading towards London, and Coborn Road. Yet the Coborn signalman has no record of any such train!”

“It could be that one or both of them was lying”, I muttered, eager to add to our unpleasant guest's discomfiture. I got a glare for my pains.

Sherlock pressed his long fingers together. I knew that look; he knew something, and was deliberating whether or not to say something. I silently cheered for 'not'.

“You mentioned that this was an experimental locomotive”, he said eventually. “Have any others of the class entered service?”

Mr. Jones seemed surprised at the question. 

“From the first batch we ordered, numbers 710 and 711 have”, he said, “and Number 712 is a few weeks away from joining them, complete at the works except for some final tests. We have provisionally ordered a further twenty, we are so pleased with them.”

“Does your company paint names on its engines, or use name-plates?”

“Sir!”

I could see from Sherlock's face that he was now genuinely annoyed. Clearly our guest finally got the message as well, and quickly answered his question.

“The few names that we have are painted”, he said, “but for "Silver Blaze" we had two special grey name-plates cast for the smoke-box. But the other engines can surely play no part in this, sir. Not only were they both elsewhere on our extensive system - Number 710 was working the London to Norwich train some way beyond Romford, whilst Number 711 was on an up train a little way out of Ipswich - but "Silver Blaze" is a most striking metallic grey, and the others our beautiful royal blue.”

“Stratford is on the London to Norwich line”, Sherlock observed.

“Do you think.....?”

“I do not think”, Sherlock said abruptly. “I prefer to know. This is a most intriguing case, Mr. Jones. However, I do foresee certain problems in restoring your locomotive to you.”

“Can you help us, sir?” the director asked.

“No. At least, not yet.”

I jumped. I had not been expecting that. And clearly, neither had Mr. Jones.

“Mr. Holmes!”

“There is of course the unlikely possibility that I am wrong”, my friend said, “but I doubt that very much. In view of the obvious facts of the case, I may not be able to restore your locomotive for some considerable time. Regrettably, I cannot say how long, but I shall telegraph you to arrange a meeting soon – possibly within a week or so - and we shall see what we shall see. You had better assign another engine to the Royal Train.”

I could see that our guest was far from happy at this, but he made his farewells and left. I stared at Sherlock in surprise.

“I did not like the man's attitude”, Sherlock said shortly. “His treatment of you was shabby, and he seems to think himself better than us. I am fairly sure that I know what happened to this phantom traveller – obviously there is only one real possibility – but I see no reason to spare such an unpleasant man a large dose of embarrassment, especially as the story will be all over the papers tomorrow. If not this evening.”

“How do you know that?” I demanded. It may have been obvious to him, but I could not see how a whole railway locomotive could just vanish into thin air. He chuckled.

“I am walking down to the post office to send a telegram”, he said. “Do you wish me to post your letter to the bank?”

“Yes, please”, I said, still musing about what he had said. Unless that branch-line signalman and/or the works man had been lying, it all seemed quite impossible. 

Sherlock smiled, and left.

+~+~+

He was back in less than half an hour, and we spent a quiet afternoon in. That quiet ended, however, when the evening paper was accompanied by a telegram for Sherlock. He read it quickly, smiled, and looked inquiringly at me. I put the paper down and resisted a temptation to scowl. Unsuccessfully.

“All right”, I grumbled. “'Mysterious Disappearance of Queen's Locomotive'. 'Great Eastern Railway directors flummoxed'. 'England's Own Vortex To Another Dimension?'”

“I think the copy-writers may have been enjoying 'a liquid luncheon'”, Sherlock smiled. “Doubtless Mr. Jones is hitting the roof just now. The publicity will be appalling.”

“I wonder that the story did not leak out sooner”, I said. 

“It is more damaging this way”, Sherlock said. “It will still be headline news tomorrow, and then the Queen's visit the next day will keep it there.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“It was leaked deliberately?” I asked.

“Of course”, he said. “And the man behind it is due here first thing tomorrow morning. If you can delay going into work for a couple of hours, I am sure you would be interested in meeting the person who made a whole locomotive disappear.”

“I most definitely would!” I said fervently.

+~+~+

Just over twelve hours later, I was sat in our main room, awaiting the arrival of the train thief. I do not know quite what I was expecting, but the man who came through the door punctually at eight o'clock in the morning was not it. Our visitor was a man was in his forties, short, had receding hair and was generally unprepossessing. If this was what a master thief looked like, then he must also be a master of disguise. He bowed to us both, looking decidedly nervous.

“Mr. Uriah Cottonworth, gentlemen”, he said.

“Pray be seated”, Sherlock said courteously. “I promise that we will not detain you for too long. I know you have to be back at the works, but Mr. Jones has been informed that I have to ask you a few things regarding the disappearance of an entire steam railway locomotive, so your absence will be deemed acceptable in the circumstances.”

He offered our guest a cup of tea, which he took with a hand that trembled slightly.

“Mr. Cottonworth is the works manager at Stratford”, Sherlock explained to me. “And to those who consider engineering to be a form of magic, he is a fine example. It is not many men who can make forty-two tons of solid metal just disappear.”

The man blushed.

“You are too generous to trifle with me, sir”, he said to Sherlock. “I trust from your message that you know all?”

He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to Sherlock, who passed it over to me. I read it:

'Synergy. Holmes, 221B. 0800 tomorrow.'

“I do not understand”, I said. 

“Synergy is the theory that something can be greater than the sum of its parts”, Sherlock explained. “And that is how the great magic trick was done, was it not, Mr. Cottonworth? Parts.”

Our guest blushed, but stayed silent. 

“I shall tell the doctor what you did, for the record”, Sherlock said, and he seemed strangely relaxed in the presence of someone who stood accused of such large-scale thievery. “This case really began with the pay and conditions dispute earlier in the year. A dispute that was handled very badly by Mr. Jones and his fellow directors, who denied you a pay rise whilst voting themselves huge bonuses. In what is typical management behaviour these days, sad to say.”

“They did”, our guest muttered. “They told us there was no money for a pay rise, then voted themselves one whilst we were still negotiating. It caused a load of bad feeling at the works.”

“In so doing, they managed to unite the whole of the works against them”, Sherlock said. “That was important, as just one person could have blown this plot wide open. But you were united against greedy managers, and determined to teach them a lesson. And the Queen's decision to use the Great Eastern Railway to visit Chelmsford gave you the perfect opportunity so to do. I must say that you planned it exceptionally well, and that had I considered you to be of a criminal persuasion, we would be undertaking this interview in the presence of my good friend, Sergeant Henriksen.”

Our guest shuddered.

“Silver Blaze” is taken in the day before her test run to Liverpool Street, and completely disassembled. The parts that constituted her are stored under false numbers, possibly to be used over time in the construction of other members of the class.”

Mr. Cottonworth nodded.

“We were going to split them between the next four engines in the class”, he admitted. “712 was all but finished, you see.”

“That also shows premeditation”, Sherlock said. “Some considerable time passed between the dispute being resolved and the dismantling, and during that time spaces were slowly added to the parts list to accommodate a complete locomotive. It helped that the Great Eastern Railway was in the process of absorbing a number of smaller companies, and that their stock was relocated to Stratford; such a thing will always add an element of confusion. By the time of its disappearance, "Silver Blaze" existed in two places, a complete locomotive on the tracks, and the sum of its parts in the store.”

“Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Hever then most nobly played their part”, he continued, “each taking a blow to the head and allowing themselves to be tied up. I dare say that if the police were ever to question the men at the works, a second one would have 'remembered' seeing 'a distant light engine' heading down the line towards London. In reality, of course, the engine was still in the works. In pieces.”

Our visitor nodded, and sighed.

“I presume that you will tell Mr. Jones?” he said resignedly.

Sherlock sat back.

“Mr. Jones merely asked me to restore his engine to him”, he said, “and I did warn him there might be problems with that. Mr. Cottonworth, I have a hypothetical question for you. It took one night to completely disassemble a Class T19 locomotive. How long would it take to re-assemble one from the same pieces?”

The man looked at him in shock, hope in his eyes.

“It... could be done in twenty-four hours, sir”, he said warily. “All the pieces are in store. It's just a question of fitting them back together.”

Sherlock smiled.

“I shall send Mr. Jones a telegram, asking him to meet us at the works in four days' time”, he said. “Who knows what we will find if we walk round some of the rarely-used sidings there?”

He looked meaningfully at our guest, who seemed on the verge of tears.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!”

“Perhaps you might thank Mr. Jones”, Sherlock observed. “Had he not been so completely insufferable when he requested my help, I might have been less lenient. I do hope that I shall receive a telegram from you sometime soon, sir. The word 'complete' should suffice.”

The man looked as if he could not believe his luck. He shook both our hands, and almost ran from the room.

“That was very generous of you”, I said. 

“No real theft took place”, he pointed out. “The parts would all have remained the property of the company, who would have had them unwittingly used in future locomotives. I am sure that someone who can make a whole locomotive disappear is more than up to the task of undoing his creation of all its parts in store, if he has not made such plans already. And I must say that I do look forward to seeing Mr. Jones' face when he is reunited with his "Silver Blaze"!”

+~+~+

It was four days later, and Mr. Jehoshaphat Jones was staring incredulously at the scene before him. We were in the carriage sidings at the Stratford works; himself, Sherlock, myself, Mr. Cottonworth and the person whom Sherlock had arranged to meet here, a Miss Charlotta Bradbury. She was a most unconventional-looking young lady, her virulent red hair more than offset by the mechanic's overalls that she was wearing. I had seriously been concerned that Mr. Jones was going to have a seizure when he first saw her, but he managed to recover. Mr. Cottonworth had narrowly managed to hide his enjoyment of his director's discomfiture in a timely fit of coughing when we had all been introduced. I had made no such effort.

The reason for Mr. Jones' second shock of the day was what lay before him in the sidings. A grey express passenger locomotive, with the "Silver Blaze" nameplates shining in the early afternoon sun. 

“This is impossible!” he snorted at last.

“You did ask that I restore your locomotive to you”, Sherlock reminded him. “I have done so. My bill will be in the post.”

“But how?” the director demanded. “I must know how!”

I knew that Sherlock always enjoyed these moments of revelation, though I saw Mr. Cottonworth tense up out of the director's line of vision. Sherlock looked thoughtfully at Mr. Jones.

“No”, he said quietly.

The director spluttered furiously.

“What do you mean, 'no'?” he demanded. “I employed you, and I demand answers!”

I was reminded of a petulant child stamping his foot and demanding that he get his way, or he would cry. Some people do not change as they 'grow up'.

“You employed me to return your locomotive”, Sherlock said dryly. “That was your only request. Had you required to be informed of the whereabouts of said locomotive before, during and after Her Majesty's recent trip to fair Essex, you should have specified as such. If there is nothing else, we shall be leaving.”

“This is outrageous!” Mr. Jones stormed. He turned on Mr. Cottonworth, who took a step back from the larger man in visible alarm. “I know damn well that you and those scum who work for you are behind this, Cottonworth. I'll sack one of you every day until I get to the truth. Starting with you!”

“I do not think so.”

I turned in surprise. It was Miss Bradbury who had spoken. Mr. Jones blinked several times, but managed to pull himself together.

“I do not know who the hell _you_ are, madam”, he said haughtily, “but this is none of your business. A woman's place is in the home!”

He stepped towards her as he spoke, clearly expecting her to back away as Mr. Cottonworth had done. To his and my surprise she stepped in, and grinned knowingly at him. He visibly flinched.

“Felixstowe”, she said lightly.

I had no idea why, but the name of that Suffolk port seemed to have a definite effect on Mr. Jones. He went very red, and stepped backwards.

“Miss Bradbury is one of the most efficient people in London when it comes to finding out useful information”, Sherlock said. “The organization that she works for knows almost everything about almost everybody. After your first meeting with us, Mr. Jones, I judged your character to be the sort that might pursue a vendetta against the people who work here, so I took the liberty of contacting her. It took her less than six hours to find the information that I required, and she felt compelled to apologize for the unusual delay.”

“What information?” I asked. Miss Bradbury grinned at me.

“When this pompous oaf's lot took over the Felixstowe Railway Company last year”, she said, “they did so by simply merging the shareholdings of the two companies. Not illegal in itself, except that several directors of the Great Eastern Railway, including Mr. Jones himself, knew of the deal before it went through. They issued a press release to deny the takeover, then when the Felixstowe Railway's share price crashed, brought lots of shares cheaply. In the case of Mr. Jones here, he made nearly two hundred pounds profit on the deal at no risk to himself.” She fixed her gaze on Mr. Jones, who took another step back. “And _that_ , sir, is illegal under British law – oh, and I have the documentation to prove it!”

“I would, Mr. Jones, also warn you that the doctor and I will be keeping in close contact with our new friends at the works”, Sherlock said acidly. “If there is any action taken against any of them, then Miss Bradbury's findings will be sent to every newspaper in London. Followed swiftly, I suspect, by the police calling at your door. Have a good day!”

And with that he led the way out of the sidings, with myself and Miss Bradbury hurrying after him.

+~+~+

Postscriptum: The success of the T19 class can be judged by the fact that one hundred and ten were built in the main class. Writing as I am in 1936 some forty-nine years on from the events in this story, some of them (albeit rebuilt as 4-4-0s, and not including “Silver Blaze”) are still in service today. Only on secondary duties, of course; the main line engines that pull the heavy express trains of our era are at least three times more powerful.

+~+~+

Our next case was most definitely close to home!


End file.
